The Golden Song
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the lower city into a slick, mirroring skin, reflecting the flickering gaslights and the weary faces of those who hurried past with their shoulders hunched against the damp chill. Elias Thorne stood at the window of his small, cramped workshop, watching the water drip from the eaves in a...
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